


The Day After Christmas Affair

by Jackie Thomas (Jackie_Thomas)



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 14:26:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackie_Thomas/pseuds/Jackie%20Thomas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The wife of an old enemy is out for revenge</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Day After Christmas Affair

Somewhere in New York City 

In a white painted windowless room banked with computers a young man sat at a desk.  He was about thirty years of age with a slight build, a Slavic pallor and white blond hair which needed cutting.  He leaned back in his chair and loosened the pencil thin black tie which he wore with a black suit and white shirt.  He put down the book he had been reading and blankly watched one of the computers light up and cough out reams of ticker tape.

A young woman, tall with rigidly bobbed hair, a perfect figure and a skirt so tight she should not have been able to walk glided into the room carrying a clipboard.  She tore off the strip of tape and ticked a box on a list, "Oh Illya, it’s just another update on the weather in Paraguay, go back to sleep."

Things were quiet at UNCLE Headquarters, New York.  The tailor shop front said 'closed for the holiday' and out back in the maze of corridors and offices a few young men in sharp suits slouched against walls or played cards and a skeleton crew of impossibly gorgeous women hit switches on computers and wrote numbers down but without any  enthusiasm, there was nothing going on.  It was Christmas day, 1968 and outside darkness was fading into a pale, snowy New York dawn.

Illya Kuryakin had seen Christmas in with a copy of Crime and Punishment and a pot of coffee.  He had been sitting in the Section 2 office ready for any kind of emergency but he hadn't been called upon to answer the telephone let alone save the planet.

He glanced at his watch, he would be relieved in a few hours and he wondered what he was going to do with himself.  He was so full of American caffeine he would not be able to sleep but New York City would be closed and all he had to go back to was an empty apartment and a choice of four different LPs to play.

It was during these rare quiet times that Illya questioned his life.  He liked it; it had turned out better than he could possibly have imagined when he was a twenty year old thinking about joining the Soviet Army.  Exploding shoelaces, talking pens and bad guys with pet leopards, eye patches and ambitious ideas for world domination added up to more job satisfaction than invading Czechoslovakia.  But what else did he have?  When it was time to stand still.  And that time would come eventually.  What would he be left with but time on his hands?  Illya drank his coffee strong and black the way Americans like it and wondered what Napoleon was doing.

 

Act one

"Stir this while I kill your mother"

Time was also on Napoleon Solo's mind.  At around lunchtime on Christmas day he was listening to his brother Nelson talk about the stock market.  He had been listening to Nelson talk about the stock market for the past hour and before that he had listened to him talk about golf.  That had been for the past four hundred years.  Before that it was something about the Rolling Stones being the end of civilisation.  In the kitchen his mother was annoying his sister-in-law and there were all kinds of children everywhere making an unearthly noise which nobody else seemed to have noticed.

Napoleon was spending Christmas day with his family in his brother's house in an imposing New York suburb.  The house smelt of pine needles and roasting meat and his brother was wearing a sweater with giant polar bears galloping across the bottom and snowflakes cascading down the front.  Where were THRUSH when you needed them?

A very little girl with fine blonde hair crawled onto his knee, chattering to herself.  She was a sweet niece called Jessica with all of the cuteness that two year olds have and not much of the viciousness.  Some of the emptiness Napoleon was feeling faded.

Napoleon's mother came into the room slamming the kitchen door behind her and saying "Well, really."

"Leave it mother," Nelson said, in the head of the household voice he had recently adopted but it didn't make any difference. She proceeded to trash her daughter-in-law who had never been good enough.  She sat down on an armchair with a martyred air.

"After all I was only trying to help.”  She turned on Napoleon. "I hope you're not carrying a gun and letting that child crawl all over you."  Napoleon only wished he had his gun with him.

He stopped that thought.  Nelson began berating one of his other spawn and Napoleon picked up the sweet niece and carried her into the kitchen.

"Let’s see if Mamma needs any help."  Mamma was ferociously stirring gravy with a furious expression on her face.  When she saw Napoleon she smiled.

"How are you holding out?" she asked and pushed her dark hair away from her eyes.

Napoleon laughed and put the little girl down on the kitchen table. He liked his sister-in-law, Maggie.  She was smart, funny and down to earth and far too good for the pompous ass. "Can you stir this whilst I go and kill your mother?"  She asked handing him a spoon.

"Oh sure, smells good."

They chatted for a while, she asking him where he had travelled to recently and about any interesting bad guys. She always wanted to know if he had any steady girlfriends and if he planned to take a vacation as she thought it was unhealthy never to have a break.  Maggie was sort of sisterly like that, she was the right kind of family, she felt like home.  None of his own family were like that, they never had been.  He had always felt they were dangerously unbalanced.

He and Maggie talked while he stirred and she did everything else and Jessica played under the kitchen table.  He listened whilst she talked about her real life, about her children, the cowboy who was supposed to be fixing the roof, about how she intended to go back to work once Nelson calmed down about the idea.  It was strange to hear about this kind of domesticity.  Most of the people Napoleon knew never ever married or stayed in one place long enough to have to worry about their roofs or floors or walls.  It was better that way, he supposed.  There it was again, that empty space.

And just before the rest of the family came crashing in Maggie said, "You seem miles away Napoleon.  You know if there's anywhere else you want to be just take off after lunch.  I won't be offended."

The phone rang when they were on the final course and Nelson answered.  "It's for you Napoleon" he said disapprovingly.  It was UNCLE.  "Thought you should know we're looking for Illya."  They had received his distress signal shortly after he had left HQ earlier that morning.

It took only an hour to drive along the empty roads to get to New York City and five minutes more to get to the office. He learnt that the distress signal had stopped abruptly somewhere in the Prospect Park area of Brooklyn, there were agents there now and Napoleon was going to join them when a message arrived.

It was scrawled on the wings of a cardboard cut-out of the Angel Gabriel which had been left on the tailor shop doorstep.  The message advised them to clear Prospect Park of agents and send Napoleon in alone. If they wanted to see Illya alive again.

Mr Waverly who had been called away from his Christmas Dinner at his sister's Fifth Avenue apartment vetoed the idea.  "It’s clearly a trap Mr Solo and I'm not prepared to lose two of my agents for no good reason."  Napoleon argued that this was their only chance to save Illya and he should be allowed to follow through.  Mr Waverly naturally agreed.

 

A blanket of snow covered the park which was already deserted when Napoleon arrived.  He kept to the cover of trees, walking with his gun at the ready.  The snowy brightness and almost complete Christmas day silence alerting him to the slightest noise or movement.

He had covered a large part of the park when he saw a figure in the distance.  It was a man wearing a winter coat starting to walk away and beckoning him to follow.  Napoleon could have had a clear shot of him but they both knew that he would not shoot.

Napoleon trudged behind, keeping a constant hundred yards between them, keeping his gun trained on his back.  He tried to keep track of the path they were taking but the endless white eventually confused him and he lost his bearings.

They arrived at a complex of buildings which turned out to be the back of Prospect Park Zoo.  The man disappeared through a door in a grey concrete building.  When Napoleon reached the door himself he found it unlocked.  He let it swing open and he could see the building was an aviary.  Realising he was presenting himself as an easy shot he walked in.

Birds shivered in cages lined up along the walls on either side of him, the place was colder than it ought to be and the creatures perched miserably with fluffed up feathers wishing they had flown south months ago. Apart from the birds there was no other sign of life.  One of the cages stood open and its inhabitants flew around the dirty glass roof in panicked circles.  He noticed, with a shiver, that the cage was labelled 'Thrush'.

He left the aviary by another door which took him into the open air.  He carried on walking through a path of animal cages, fingering the trigger of his gun as he progressed.  Most of the cages appeared to be empty, the animals having retreated into their shelters, only the penguins splashing about in their pool were enjoying the climate and they made the only noise.  Then Napoleon heard the click of a rifle catch and spun round.  He saw two people, no three, there was Illya.

The two, one an elderly woman, small, plump and grey haired wearing an immense black fur coat and an icy expression.  She was seated on a bench.  Behind her a young man, barely twenty years old, the man that Napoleon had followed.  He was large in stature with an impassive face.  He trained a rifle at Napoleon.

They were near the Polar Bear cage.  A Bear was lying on its side asleep, dead or unconscious a mass of dirty white fur.  Illya was also in the cage, he too lay motionless and he had apparently been attacked by the creature, there was a gash across his forehead and his white shirt was torn and blood stained.  Napoleon looked desperately for some sign of life.

"Mr Solo, put down your gun, you won't be needing it," the old woman spoke; she had an unidentifiable European accent.  Napoleon put the gun onto the ground. "Put down your communicator,” she instructed and he took out the silver pen and put that down.  "Now kick them away."  He again obeyed and the young man picked them up.  Then she said,

"Mr Solo, I am sixty nine years old.  I have arthritis, varicose veins, a murmur in my heart and a pain in my intestine.  I have better things to do than waste my time waiting for you to arrive."

"Who are you?"

"My name is Svetlana Chabrol.  You do not know me but you may remember my husband."

Napoleon knew the name very well.  "Colonel Chabrol, THRUSH scientist, he invented some kind of vaporising bomb and then..."

"and then you killed him."

Napoleon finally understood. "Madam, he gave me no choice."

"We were married twenty seven years Mr Solo, this is our only son.  He was a great man; there never was a greater intellect.  He was good and kind..."

"He was a killer, he was going to kill me and then anyone else who stood in the way of his plan to rule Europe for THRUSH."

"I won't listen to you Mr Solo, because I know about UNCLE lies.  It doesn't matter now anyway because at my husband's grave I swore to take revenge.  Not only for his death but for the hell that you put me in."  She dabbed a handkerchief at an imaginary tear, "Have you ever experienced grief Mr Solo?  Grief at the loss of the person dearest to you.  Do you know what that feels like? It is worse than having a limb torn off, it is worse than dying yourself, it is a constant, bitter, never dulled pain.  You did that to me Mr Solo and I had to decide how to take my revenge.

"I had the choice, I could kill you which would be fitting or I could kill the person most dear to you and then you could live through what I have lived through."

She looked Napoleon up and down as he stood with his hands in the pockets of his grey suit.  His strong steady gaze met hers.  She stood up and began to turn away with her old woman's shuffling gait.  "I couldn't decide so what I have done is left the choice to you."

She turned to the cage which held Illya and the polar bear. "You lead a loveless life Mr Solo," she said. "I could not find anyone amongst the women you have made love to whom you cared anything for.  You care nothing for your mother or your brother." She took her son's arm. "That creature is the only human you seem to have any attachment for."

"So you killed him."  Napoleon spat the words out.

"No, Mr Solo, he is not dead, the bear was shot with a tranquillising dart before he could finish off your friend.  He is merely unconscious and will, I assure you, be waking up soon.  It is very difficult to tranquillise a polar bear as I am sure you will appreciate and the dart will work for only a short time.  The bear will also be waking up soon.

"My son and I are leaving now, we have a helicopter waiting. You will be pleased to know that the cage door is not locked and if you open it your friend can escape.  Unfortunately the cage is electrified and if you open the door you will die.  Your choice Mr Solo.  Him or you."

The two, mother and son, disappeared through a side door out into the park and Napoleon did not attempt to follow them. He paced around the cage trying to see a way in, calling to Illya to wake up.  To test the electrification he tossed a coin at one of the bars, there was an alarming buzz and crackle.

At the back of the polar bear enclosure was a wooden door, this led to the bear's shelter.  This door was not electrified but it resisted all attempts to kick it open or be blown open by the explosives charge that Napoleon kept between his teeth and detonated with his watch.  He later found out that this was because a second tranquillised bear was collapsed against it.

The noise woke Illya who was struggling painfully to sit up.  Napoleon shouted at him not to touch the bars of the cage.  Illya did not reply, he was watching the polar bear wake up.

Napoleon climbed up onto the roof of the shelter.  From there he could pull Illya up.  Surely that was too easy.

Once he had clambered up he realised that the Chabrols had helpfully released the inhabitants of the snake house onto the roof top.  There seemed to be hundreds of them, tangled up in each other leaving no space to walk.  Napoleon had no particular fear of snakes, not until this moment anyway, and he steeled himself to step over them, only actually stepping on the creatures he recognised as not poisonous.

Just before he reached the roof edge a snake reared its yellow body up at him.  He did not recognise the species at all but without thinking he picked it up and threw it aside.  He froze for a second beginning to feel a slow panic building inside him. He overcame it and reached the roof edge.

He was there in time to see the polar bear lumbering bad tempered toward Illya as he scrambled away from it.  Napoleon shouted to him and Illya managed to stand unsteadily and go to the shelter wall.  Illya's quick painful movements were antagonising the beast and it made a leap toward him just as Napoleon pulled him to safety.

 

Act two

"A polar bear landed on me"

Somehow the zoo was suddenly full of UNCLE agents.  They had seen the helicopter taking off and Mr Waverly had ordered them in.  Illya shivering and barely conscious leaned against Napoleon as they walked out of the park.

Later Napoleon sat alone in his accustomed place in the hospital Emergency Room.  A couple of hours passed and it was six o'clock on Christmas Day.  The doctor said that beyond the beginnings of hypothermia, some cuts and bruises and general shock Illya was all right and could be discharged.

Not wanting him to be on his own Napoleon drove Illya back to his own apartment. Hardly able to suppress the emotion rising from an unknown and previously untapped source he helped his partner to something to eat, to bathe and into bed.

Then he waited, not moving from his place beside the fire, watching the golden clear colour of the whiskies that he poured himself and listening to the antique mantel clock tick the hours past.  Finally Illya wandered out of the bedroom lost in Napoleon's bath robe.

"How do you feel?"

"Like a polar bear landed on me."

"Sit down here by the fire.  Do you want a drink?  I've got some of that horrible pepper vodka."

"Did you put it in the ice box?"

"Yes I did, don't panic."  Illya went to the armchair with a slow painful movement.

"Napoleon, thank you for bringing me back here, that was kind of you."  Napoleon poured Illya a drink and himself another, he shrugged.

"Oh, I didn't want to spend Christmas alone anyway."

"Well you could have gone back to your brothers."

"Very funny."

"How is Nelson?"

"He's getting worse and so is my mother.  She's borderline psychotic.  Madam Chabrol's got nothing on her."  Napoleon handed Illya his drink.

Illya raised his glass and took a sip, then he said, "How's Maggie?"

"Just about keeping it together.  Poor girl you have to be tough to survive the Solos."

Illya put his drink down on the glass-topped coffee table. "I could always see you and Maggie together."

"She'd have more sense," Napoleon said bitterly. "Scratch the surface, when it comes to women, Nelson and I aren't so different."

Illya was looking at him intently and Napoleon had to look away, back into the depths of his whisky glass.  It was a few weeks now that he found himself unable to meet those blue eyes. Madam Chabrol had a point. He'd had too much to drink.

"Napoleon, what are you saying.  You make women feel beautiful."

"And then, I make them feel worthless by never phoning again.  At least I try my best."

"You shouldn't take too much notice of that old woman.  After all it is she who throws people into polar bear cages not you."  Illya was smiling but Napoleon had too many words backing up all of a sudden,

"Illya I...." but the words stopped, he stopped them.

"What's the matter?"

Eventually he looked at Illya's solemn face.  He couldn't say what he wanted to so he said, "Are you OK? Can I get you anything?"

Illya said, "What's on your mind?"

"You don't want to know."

"Try me Napoleon," he said urgently.

"Illya don't."  He stood up. "I'll get another drink." He picked up Illya's glass which was still more than half full and went into the kitchen.  His head was beginning to hurt and he leaned it against the cool tiled wall.

Illya was there by his side.  He felt Illya's arm around him and heard him saying, "It's OK.  It's Christmas, we've had a drink, tomorrow we'll be the same as we were before."

Napoleon followed his first instinct, pushing the friendly arm away and moving to keep a decent American distance between them.  Illya shook his hair away from his eyes and now embarrassed he walked away toward the bedroom saying, "I'd better go."

Then Napoleon followed his second instinct.  He went after Illya and stopped him by touching his arm.  Illya turned to face him and they stood like that until Illya was about to go again but Napoleon with a tentative hand fingered his friend's fine blond hair and then he drew his thin body near him.

The next thing that happened was that someone put a key into Napoleon's apartment door and turned it.  The door began to open.  It was a moment of confusion, too much at once.  Napoleon let go of Illya and expected the door to close as a consequence.  Then he recovered himself enough to reach into the drawer of his bureau where he kept a gun.  He was in time to point the gun at the person coming in.

"Oh god, Napoleon, I'm sorry," it was Maggie.  Maggie bright eyed and clear skinned from the cold, in an old winter coat carrying an overnight bag and her youngest daughter asleep against her shoulder.  Napoleon quickly put the gun back into the drawer and took the bag from her.

"Maggie, come in."  She was all flustered.

"I thought you were away working, I wouldn't have come otherwise.  Oh Napoleon I'm sorry."

"Maggie it’s OK.  I said anytime I meant it."  He ushered her in and closed the door.

"Thank you," she said. "I'm a complete mess."  Then, "Hello Illya", in the gentle voice women often used with him.  Illya was leaning on the back of Napoleon's sofa looking dazed as if he had just been hit.  She said, "Are you alright?  You look kind of battered."  He smiled and came forward to give her a kiss,

"I'm fine Maggie, how are you?"

She did not reply for a moment.  She laid Jessica onto the sofa and let Napoleon help her off with her coat.  Then she sat down next to her daughter. "I left him.  I couldn't stand it any longer.  Napoleon I just need half an hour to catch my breath and then I'll go."

Napoleon said, "You'll stay here tonight and for however long you need to."  He had sat down on one of the fireside chairs and over Maggie's shoulder he saw Illya go into the bedroom.

Maggie glanced after him, "What happened to Illya?"

"A polar bear.  What happened to you?"

"Same thing."  Maggie pushed back her hair to show Napoleon a large dark bruise on the side of her face.  He could not believe it,

"Nelson did that?"

She nodded.  "It happened just after you left.  I must admit I started it.  Your mother was driving me insane telling me how to bring up my children.  So Nelson and I got into a fight as soon as she went out of the room.  I ended up saying I was going to leave. It sort of came out by accident and Nelson just flipped."

"Has he hit you before?"

"No, oh god no, he normally goes in for temper tantrums, mental torture, that kind of thing.  Well I don't have to explain him to you."  She absently stroked Jessica's hair, "Anyway it gave me a good excuse to leave straight away and here I am."

"Where are the boys?"

"With him, I knew I couldn't find beds for all of them tonight.  I'm afraid I haven't thought much further ahead than that."  She suddenly looked very tired, "Napoleon, I'm sorry to dump this on you I don't mean to make you take sides."

"Sleep here tonight, tomorrow it won't look so bad."

"I doubt that," she said with a slow smile that made Napoleon suddenly remember how beautiful she was.

Illya came out of the bedroom just then.  He had changed into a pair of Napoleon's jeans and a white Tshirt.  He said, "I should be going."

Napoleon had been trying to work out how to arrange everyone in the two rooms but Illya said, "It's OK, I'm fine. I just want to sleep for a week."

Maggie stood up, "Illya honey, I've taken your bed, I'll go to a hotel, spend some of...." she looked from Illya to Napoleon and stopped.

Napoleon said quickly, "I'll give you a lift home Illya," and began to look for his jacket.

Illya shook his head, "No, you've had drink just give me a couple of dollars and I'll get a taxi."

He said goodnight to Maggie and left.

Act three

"Mr Solo, where are you may I ask?"

 

Maggie put her daughter to bed in Napoleon's bedroom and then the two of them talked as Christmas faded away.  Maggie did most of the talking; her whole secret story came pouring out. It sounded new on her lips, feelings that had never been expressed in words before.  The quiet anger of an unhappy marriage and the exhaustion of being a mother for ten years without a day off.  Not a big story or an unusual one but painful enough to hear.

Maggie was not the sort of woman to apportion blame, except to herself.  It was not Nelson's fault that she was unhappy, he couldn't help being the kind of man he was and he did work extremely hard.  Perhaps she had been too young to marry, too young to know what she really wanted.  Finally she said, "This must sound like a transmission from another planet to you Napoleon."

He shook his head, "I guess we all build prisons for ourselves, of one kind or another."

"Not you, I can't believe that of you."

"My life isn't so different." But he did not say anymore, she was too easy to talk to, it was dangerous.

Maggie kissed Napoleon goodnight, a friendly kiss on his lips.  She said in a most matter of fact way, "I'll never say this again, Napoleon but I love you.  I have done for a long time.  If you ever thought it might work just let me know."   He opened his mouth to answer, not quite sure what he was going to say but she stopped him.  "Don't say anything."  And she disappeared into the bedroom.

Napoleon lay on the couch and listened to her breathing as she fell asleep.  He did not sleep for a long time, unsuccessfully trying to work out what had happened to Christmas and what had happened to his life.

Maggie and Jessica were still asleep when Napoleon woke up early the next morning.  He had a fearsome hangover but he had to get into work sometime today as he had paperwork to catch up on.  He showered and dressed and headed for Illya's place in Brooklyn.

He kept Illya's spare key and he let himself into the apartment, not wanting to get him out of bed.  It was a one room rented flat.  An immigrant's home; neat and sparsely furnished, a few books, a few records to play on the record player which sat on the bare floor, a couple of tatty armchairs, a wardrobe, a chest of drawers and a bed.  Illya lay sleeping in the bed.

Napoleon was not sure why he was here. He had a vague sense of a hidden hand guiding him but it was mostly that he was still a little drunk.

He watched Illya sleep for a while.  The cut on his forehead was covered with a plaster and a large bruise had appeared on his jaw but Napoleon was taken aback by his beauty; paler even than usual, flaxen hair, straight unfussy Russian features falling into a naturally troubled expression.  It was the face that Napoleon loved most in the world.  He caught his breath and, sitting on the edge of the bed, finally accepted the fact.

Still too much to cope with he would have left then but Illya began to wake up. Opening his eyes he saw Napoleon and smiled, "What are you doing here?" Napoleon did not answer, lost for a moment in the blue eyes.  Then he whispered,

"I don't know what's the matter with me." Illya sat up, he was still wearing Napoleon's Tshirt.  With a simple gesture he took his friend in his arms and held him.  Napoleon said "I can't do this."   But Illya placed a gentle, hesitant kiss on his neck.  Outside, snow started falling, carried on circling breezes and settling into deep droves on the sidewalk.  It was the day after Christmas.

Illya and Napoleon made love together for the first time that morning and then entwined they talked about the forbidden things and the secret history.

Morning turned into afternoon and Illya lay sleeping in Napoleon's arms.

Napoleon stroked his hair and found himself unable to believe that there had ever been a time when he had been apart from this man, at this moment so essential to his existence.  He watched through the skylight as the flurry of snow turned into a slow patter of rain.

 

The peace was broken by the insistent beep of Napoleon's communicator.  It was in the pocket of his jacket which hung on the bedstead behind him.  He reached over to retrieve it and Illya woke looking surprised at the situation he found himself in.  Napoleon twisted off the cap of his communicator, "Solo here."

Mr Waverly's faintly reproving voice came through.  "Good afternoon, Mr Solo, where are you, may I ask?"

"Where am I?" Napoleon sniffed and said "um" to give himself time to think of an answer.  Illya beamed at him from under sleep tousled hair.  Finally he said, "I'm on my way in."

"Well could you hurry we've rather a problem."

"What is it?"

"I have your sister-in-law here, she's very distressed.  Your niece has been kidnapped.  By a young man fitting the description of the son of Madam Chabrol whom you'll no doubt remember."

Illya uttered a silent curse and rolled out of bed.  He began to dress quickly whilst Napoleon said, "I'll be as quick as I can", clicked off the communicator and did the same.

Act four

"Nelson's got a theory"

 

When Napoleon went into Mr Waverly's office he found that Nelson had just arrived.  Maggie was there too, sitting rigidly on the edge of a chair, smoking a cigarette looking miserable.  Nelson was pacing up and down threatening to sue.  Mr Waverly was unfailingly polite.

When Maggie saw Napoleon she went to him and he hugged her briefly.

"Tell me what happened, Maggie?"

"It was about an hour ago.  Jessica and I came out of your apartment building."  She glanced at Nelson who began to implode.  "A car was parked, half on the sidewalk, a young man opened one of the car doors, he reached out and grabbed Jessica, it happened so quickly I couldn't do anything."

"Did you get a look at the type of car or its number?"

Maggie shook her head, "I've been trying to think."

Napoleon said to Mr Waverly, "Do we have a ransom note or any kind of message?"

"Not yet."

"It'll come, it’s me they're after really."  He nodded in the direction of the street, "Illya's outside in case they come here to deliver it in person."

"We have all the roads out of town covered as well as airports and heliports.  Beyond that we have to wait I fear."

Nelson yelled, "Wait!  They've got my kid."  He swerved round at Napoleon, "I'm holding you responsible for this."

"Why don't you try and calm down."  Napoleon replied sharply in a way he'd never dared address his older brother before.

"I'll calm down when I get my daughter back and when I find out what you've been doing with my wife."

"Nelson that's enough."  Maggie said quietly as if to a child making a scene in public and Nelson flung himself onto a chair.

Napoleon's communicator beeped again, it was Illya.  "Napoleon, you had better come out here and if Maggie and Nelson are there, keep them inside."

 

When Napoleon and Mr Waverly came outside their gaze was immediately drawn to one of the office blocks on the other side of the road.  It was about fifteen storeys high but they were immediately looking at the ledge which circled the building at the eleventh floor.

Jessica sat alone on the ledge, dangling her legs happily into the empty space below.  She seemed to have been put out of the window.  She was a tiny speck against the grey concrete building only clearly visible because of her bright red winter coat, white woollen tights and the shiny buckles on her red shoes.  Jessica seemed to be content, she held in her hands a small stuffed toy which she played with and concentrated intently on.  But from below it was clear that as soon as she noticed the cold of the breezy day, that there was a light rain falling, that she was on her own, that she was too far away from the ground she would fall.

Illya was going quickly up the building's fire escape and he spoke to Napoleon on his communicator. "You've got to get the road closed and try to keep her parents out of sight.  If she sees them she'll try and get to them.  It's lethal up here, everything's covered in ice."

Napoleon looked for another way up.  Mr Waverly was organising agents to get into the office block but it was locked up for the holiday and using explosives would create a noise that would frighten the little girl.

Illya soon reached the landing of the fire escape on a level with Jessica's ledge.  He was about to move along it when Napoleon saw him stop and look up at the flat roof of the building.  He put his hands in the air.  Napoleon followed his gaze and he saw Madam Chabrol and her son.  The son pointed his rifle at Illya.  Their helicopter hummed behind them.

Napoleon immediately crossed the road and started to make his way up the fire escape of the neighbouring building.  Illya passed on the message that Madam Chabrol wished Napoleon to rescue the child himself.  He also told Napoleon to ignore the message; they would not shoot him because the gun of every UNCLE Agent who had made it in to work that day was trained on them from various points in the street.  Anyway, Illya decided to proceed on the basis of that certainty and began edging his way along the narrow ledge.  Jessica saw him coming, almost hypnotised by his slow, careful steps.

Napoleon, reaching the roof of the neighbouring building, took his gun out.  He jumped the few feet onto the next roof.  The noise he made in landing was covered by the hum of the helicopter.  The young man was concentrating on training his gun at Illya and did not notice Napoleon.  He was disarmed and knocked to the ground with easy professionalism.

Madam Chabrol watched, "There you are Mr Solo.  My bones are creaking in the cold and my arthritis is crippling me, all through waiting for you to finally get here."  She raised her hands as other UNCLE Agents, who had followed Napoleon, came toward her.  She said to Napoleon, "Don't think I haven't won Mr Solo.  What you don't know is that the child and your friend are dead already."

"What do you mean?"

"There is a weak point on that ledge which even now Mr Kuryakin walks upon.  A small explosive charge has weakened it further.  All Mr Kuryakin has to do is step on that point and the entire ledge will collapse taking both of them with it."

Napoleon found a way into the building through a door in the roof.  He made his way down until he was beside the window nearest to Jessica.  He began to open it very slowly.  Beside her he noticed the cracked piece of ledge that the old woman had referred to.

Illya had almost reached the child and he was talking to her in a calm low voice.  Keeping eye contact with her, he asked her what her toy was. It turned out to be a stuffed polar bear.  He asked her if she wanted to come with him.  She said "yes" and held out her hand to him.

Then her father, who was unable to contain himself any longer, came out of the tailor shop and yelled, "Keep still."

Jessica lost her balance and slipped on the icy surface.  Illya caught her just as she fell, as he pulled her up into his arms the concrete beneath him crumbled.  With a most basic survival instinct kicking in he freed one hand and with it saved himself by grabbing hold of an inch of window frame.  Napoleon had flung the window open and grabbed Illya's arm.  Jessica began crying and struggling.

It was a brief but terrible moment.  The three of them clung to each other unable to move and then Napoleon pulled Illya and Jessica in.

 

Illya had a way of picking himself up, straightening his tie and walking away without drawing breath.  Which is what he did.  Jessica sobbed quietly and Napoleon wrapped her in his jacket and carried her downstairs into the street to where Maggie and Nelson were waiting.  He put her into Maggie's arms and said, "I'm so sorry."

Nelson had quietened down a lot but he was still visibly suppressing an urge to punch his brother.  He put his arm around Maggie and said, "Let’s go home."  Maggie shook off the arm.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," she said and walked away from him.  He ran after her.

"Maggie, you can't mean it, after what just happened."

"This changes nothing, whatever made you think it would?."  She looked at Napoleon who was standing next to Illya looking at his feet. Illya was looking intently at Napoleon.

"Napoleon, do you think you could give me a lift?  I want to take her to the Emergency Room."

"Oh sure," he said and glancing at Illya he took her to his car and they drove away.

Mr Waverly collected Nelson who otherwise would have spent the rest of the day pacing up and down the street.

Illya watched Napoleon's car take a left on to the main road and he went home feeling worse than ever.

 

The doctors wanted Jessica to stay in hospital overnight, they said she seemed to be all right but they wanted to watch her anyway.  Maggie sat with her until she fell asleep and then Napoleon took her to the hospital coffee shop.

Maggie was curious about the old woman who had tried to kill her daughter.  She was horrified to learn that it was all part of her revenge against Napoleon, as was the attack on Illya the previous day.

"She did her homework though; she certainly found your weak points."

"What do you mean?" Napoleon said a little defensively.

"Nothing, just that Napoleon only cares about his brother’s kids and his best friend.  Anybody who knows you knows that.  Everybody else is either a good guy or a bad guy and dealt with accordingly."

"Well you forgot about his brother's wife. I care about her too."

"That's kind of an honour, thank you."  Maggie looked at Napoleon curiously over the rim of her coffee cup.  Finally she said, "You and Illya are very close aren't you?"

"Maggie cut it out."

"Sorry, it’s just that Nelson's got a theory about the two of you."

"Jesus....."

"Well I always thought it was rubbish, but yesterday I got the distinct impression I had walked in on something."

"Maggie!"

Napoleon was devastated.  He had no idea he was so transparent.  Nelson had apparently known the truth even before he did and Nelson was not quite as perceptive as a herd of charging buffalo.

"Oh calm down Napoleon, I'm just teasing you."  She picked up her purse and stood up. "I'm just going to check on the little one."  She took a last sip of coffee before resting her kind, laughing eyes on him, "But after all, who wouldn't fall in love with Illya?"

"You're just making it worse, please go away."

Napoleon sat for a long time not moving.  He had to think, he had to make decisions.  He became anxious, suddenly tired.  He began to shine torches into the dusty forgotten corners of his mind.  The years with UNCLE; happy and successful.  Before that the years in the army.  Before that college.  He thought of all the girls smiling and beautiful.  He thought of Illya, the serious young Russian coming into his life and becoming its one certainty.

Then he shone the torch on a fourteen year old boy with a bleeding mouth from a fight with his older brother.  The boy scared and confused making a decision.  A decision that he was not going to be different.  He was not ever going to do anything that would open himself up to ridicule.  He was not ever going to be a freak or a weirdo.  He was going to be the toughest, the handsomest and the most successful and the most beautiful women would fall for him.

Napoleon shivered, he had lost the memory of that moment in a dark twenty year old mist.  The time had come to make another decision.

When Maggie returned she slipped into the seat next to Napoleon's startling him out of his introspection.  He said, "How's she doing?”

"Fast asleep, I guess she's OK." She smiled, "Listen, you don't have to hang around here.   I'll just go and sit by her bed and maybe doze off."  Napoleon met her eyes,

"If it’s OK Maggie, I'd like to stay with you tonight."

 

After a couple of days without hearing from Napoleon Illya went back to work.  He seemed a little dull, a little down, which everyone put down to having been ill.  He offered to work over the New Year holiday.

End

July 1997


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